Besides the brawls of coachmen, when they meet,
And stop in turnings of a narrow street,
Such a loud medley of confusion make,
As drowsy Archer on the bench would wake.
'If you walk out in business ne'er so great,
Ten thousand stops you must expect to meet;
Thick crowds in every place you must charge through,
And storm your passage wheresoe'er you go;
While tides of followers behind you throng,
And, pressing on your heels, shove you along;
One with a board, or rafter, hits your head,
Another with his elbow bores your side;
Some tread upon your corns, perhaps in sport,
Meanwhile your legs are cased all o'er with dirt;
Here, you the march of a slow funeral wait,
Advancing to the church with solemn state;
There, a sedan and lacquies stop your way,
That bears some punk of honour to the play;
Now, you some mighty piece of timber meet,
Which tottering threatens ruin to the street;
Next, a huge Portland stone, for building Paul's,
Itself almost a rock, on carriage rolls;
Which, if it fall, would cause a massacre,
And serve at once to murder, and inter.
'If what I've said can't from the town affright,
Consider other dangers of the night:
When brickbats are from upper stories thrown,
And empty chamber-pots come pouring down
From garret windows; you have cause to bless
The gentle stars, if you come off with piss;
So many fates attend, a man had need,
Ne'er walk without a surgeon by his side;
And he can hardly now discreet be thought,
That does not make his will ere he go out.[1]
- ↑ 'Prepare for death, if here at night you roam,
And sign your will before you sup from home.'—London.
The parallel passages are both imitated from [[author:Juvenal|]]; but in Oldham's time the street dangers were more imminent.
